


Breadcrumbs

by objectlesson



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Confessions, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Drinking, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, thigh-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Eventually, he starts to wonder if its possible to havetoo manybreadcrumbs. If you canchokeon all that pithy, meaningless filler. It gets you full, but it doesn'tfeedyou. And he’s still fucking hungry.
Relationships: Walter Beckett/Lance Sterling
Comments: 40
Kudos: 672





	Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write a Drabble for an anon on tumblr and instead it turned into 3 thousand smutty, smutty words. I love these two!!!! Also the idea of Walter drinking Whiteclaw is so cute to me for some reason now its a fave head canon <3 Anyway enjoy this is nothing but porn.

—-

Walter thought it was a breadcrumb thing. 

Like, his near-paralyzing crush on Lance would never _go_ anywhere, so there was no harm in hunting for scraps where he could find them. They were pity prizes, scavenged and unsustainable. 

He made sure their hands brushed when he reached for things in the lab, he checked Lance out relentlessly when he though he wasn’t looking, he put the arm down between their seats at the movie theater and sidled up against him every time he managed to drag Lance to the movies. The miraculous thing was that he actually got _away_ with it. Lance must feel sorry for him, like Walter feels sorry for the flock of homeless pigeons at the park. Lance must be tossing him breadcrumbs. 

So, Walter pushes his luck. Invites himself over for breakfast sometimes so he can see Lance in his robe, (he looks so damn good in red), or follows him home after work so they can watch _Heart and Seoul_ reruns since he managed to get Lance into it. Sometimes they’ll drink a little to unwind, gin and tonics for Lance and Whiteclaw for Walter since they’re the only alcohol he’s found that doesn’t make him wrinkle up his nose in disgust. 

Those are his favorite nights: sitting beside Lance on the couch, watching him instead of the TV since he’s seen every episode from seasons one through three so many times he’s got them memorized. Head fuzzy, cheeks hot, whole body heavy and floaty at the same time. It makes him feel bold, so he’ll kick his shoes off and curl up under the weight of Lance’s arm, press his face into his shirt and inhale greedily, wishing he could stop time and just bask in the glorious solidity of these moments. The first time he does something like this outside the dark interior of a movie theater, Lance looks down at him, brow furrowed as he cautiously moves away. “What are you doing?” 

“Having a cuddle,” Walter answers, pressing the cold can of his mango Whiteclaw against a too-flushed cheek. “It’s good for you, you know. Human contact. Challenging your outdated constructs of masculinity and all that.” 

“I don’t have _outdated constructs of masculinity,”_ Lance snaps, dropping his arm off the back of his couch and curling it around Walter’s shoulders, jostling him defiantly closer. “See?” 

“Good,” Walter murmurs, heart rabbiting mortifyingly in his chest as he snuggles into his bread ribcage, thinking maybe he could _die_ here, drowned in heat, supported by hard flesh, inhaling the familiar scent of very expensive cologne and aftershave. 

Since then, it’s become an increasingly regular ritual. Walter coming over after work, ordering take out, throwing on _Heart and Seoul._ And after a Whiteclaw or two, _cuddling._ Lance really doesn't seem to mind, or even read too much into it the way other guys do. Walter often finds himself posturing awkwardly around straight men, either affecting a less-physical persona so he doesn’t have to deal with them assuming he’s hitting on them, or leaning _extra hard_ into his more feminine mannerisms to deliberately make them uncomfortable. It depends on the straight guy, and their particular brand of latent homophobia. 

But Walter can’t place Lance, not really. Maybe it’s because he has a huge crush on him. Or maybe it’s because Lance isn’t straight (this is wishful thinking, Walter _knows,_ but Whiteclaw makes him wishful). Plus, Lance does confusing _shit._ He doesn’t just grudgingly sit there as a passive recipient of Walter’s cuddles, he _engages._ Sometimes he messes with his hair, threading his fingers through it and commenting on how it always sticks up, good naturally ribbing him. Other times Walter will catch him just _looking_ at him fondly, a smug smile on his face before he teases him for something, having bird shit on his collar or food on his shirt. Other times he’ll gently, sweetly thumb over his shoulder or the back of his arm before he gets up to grab them more drinks from the kitchen. It’s a lot for Walter’s sad, gay, longing little heart. It’s always racing when Lance is around, always lurching treacherously up into his throat. 

Eventually, he starts to wonder if its possible to have _too many_ breadcrumbs. If you can _choke_ on all that pithy, meaningless filler. It gets you full, but it doesn't _feed_ you. And he’s still fucking hungry. 

It all comes to a head one dreary Wednesday. It’s pouring outside and they're bedded down on the couch under Lance’s comforter he dragged in from his bedroom, and it _smells_ like him, not just like his cologne but his _person smell,_ sleep and sweat and honesty. It’s too much; Walter is dizzy with it, mouth watering, cock thick in his sweats, side tingling where he’s pressed close to Lance. He keeps meaning to pull away, to get a fucking _hold_ of himself because it’s one thing to cuddle platonically with someone but its a totally different thing to get _hard_ over it, but instead, he can’t fucking move. It feels too _good_ , too _magnetic_ , and on top of that Lance is slowly melting into the couch and pulling Walter with him, until they’re almost lying down, Walter on top of Lance. And worst of all, Lance’s _face is buried in his hair._ He’s inhaling from it. Walter has smelled guys’ dirty hair before but it was because he was _fucking_ them. Or wishing he was. But this—-this is beyond a cuddle. This is beyond a breadcrumb. 

When Lance starts smoothing his hand idly up and down his ribcage, he decides this situation has officially traipsed over from self flagellation to flat out _torture. “_ Um,” he says, peeling away awkwardly, realizing there’s hardly anywhere he can put his hands that isn’t incriminating. “Hey what are—what’re we doing?” he asks, gaze flashing up to Lance, who looks as nonchalant and nonplussed as ever. 

“Thought we were having a cuddle?” he mumbles, hand remaining stubbornly fixed to Walter’s side, warm and heavy and too delicious to endure. “Challenging…what did you call them? outdated constructs of masculinity?” 

Walter’s cheeks flush, his heart starts to race because _yes_ he did say that but. It was just a guise so he could get away with touching the guy he has a crush on. “Ok, sure, but also…Lance. Dunno if you noticed but m’gay and lonely and you’re really hot and—like. At a certain point it starts to mess with my head, being so close to you. M’sorry if that’s weird, or if—”

Lance’s gaze softens and darkens so much Walter cuts himself off, suddenly unable to breathe. “M’not trying to mess with your head,” Lance says quietly, shifting his hand so Walter’s shirt rides up before he tentatively pushes his hand underneath to feel skin. Walter gasps, feeling like he's fucking coming apart, like the world has ended, like he's just fallen and pitched face first off a cliff. “M’trying to make a move on you but I—I dunno. I guess I've been doing it wrong, huh?” Lance murmurs, thumbing into the ditch of Walter’s waist. 

“Fuck,” Walter wheezes, shifting up, pressing their brows together, exhaling hotly onto Lance’s lips because he’s way too scared to actually just—up and kiss him. Maybe he’s misunderstanding this, maybe he’s dreaming. He just can’t take Lance’s _word_ though, even with his hands on his skin, his eyes half-lidded, his breath sweet and hungry. “Dunno. My head feels pretty messed with anyway,” he whispers, eyes fluttering closed as he sways. 

And just like that, Lance is kissing him. Curling a strong arm around his back and crushing him into his chest, cupping his other palm around his cheek and drawing him close enough to lick up into the fever of his mouth. And Lance—he kisses so fucking _slow_ Walter is shaking, trembling all over, body a mess of disbelief and anticipation even though it’s _happening._ Tender and molasses thick, each drag of their mouths lasting a millennium. It feels more like sex than kissing has ever fucking felt in his _life_ , and without even realizing it Walter is straddling Lance’s thigh and rocking against it, cock embarrassingly hard, stomach in knots. 

“God, _boy_ , you drive me fucking crazy,” Lance huffs out before he mouths messily down Walter’s neck, sucking, razing tender skin with his teeth. HIs big hands are all over Walter’s body and it makes him him feel small, malleable, _wanted. “_ Do you even _know_ how much it fucked me up when you’d sit in my lap? Wanted you so bad,” he groans, palming down to Walter’s ass and squeezing. His palms can cover the entire thing, and it makes Walter shudder. He wants to be held, he wants to be pried apart, he wants to be _consumed._ Instead he just whimpers, rutting against the hard, solid plane of Lance’s thigh. 

“ _I_ was the one going crazy. I—why didn't you _tell_ me? Or do anything? Would have saved me a lot of wondering,” he admits. “A lot of grief.” 

Lance’s laugh is nothing but a hot, low, rumbling exhalation. It gives Walter goosebumps. “Hell I _tried!_ I sat through three seasons of your show. I’d buy you your favorite frilly fruity drinks. I’d _put my arm around you_ like some goddamned high schooler on a first date and you—you never did anything. I thought you really were just playing at some weird Gen Z ‘fuck masculinity, cuddles are healing’ bullshit.” He groans then, sucks hard on Walter’s pulse point so it throbs with a nervy pang. “Fuck, you’re so pale, so easy to mark up.” 

“I—I was literally just making excuses up to touch you,” Walter admits around a gasp. Then, “ _God_ that feels good.” 

Lance pushes his fingers beneath the elastic of Walter’s sweat-pants, razing his nails there gently. “Can I touch you under your clothes?” 

“ _Fuck, yes,_ please,” Walter groans, cock twitching as he grinds it into Lance, whole body dissolving into shivers under the heat of his mouth. “You can mark me up. You can do whatever you want to me.” 

There’s a moment of labored breath, and speeding hearts. Lance’s grip tightening reflexively before it gives way to softness. “Mm, fuck. I want to—want to take you to my bed,” Lance mumbles, rolling Walter off of him and wedging him into the space between his body and the back of the couch, trapping him there. “But I don’t think m’gonna make it all that way. Can’t stop touching you long enough, so. We’ll save the bed for round two, huh?” 

“Round two?” Walter keens breathlessly. “You gonna still want me after this? This isn’t some—experimental, getting it out of your system hook up?” He has to ask because—he had to know. This is how things have _gone_ for him in the past. The only way he’s used to being wanted. 

Lance makes a face before kissing Walter silent, reaching down between the friction of their bodies to palm over his cock confidently, eliciting a yelp. “No,” he hisses into Walter’s gasping mouth. “Gonna be a long ass time before I get enough of you, boy. Been waiting too long.” 

“Fuck,” Walter whimpers, rolling his hips, humping desperately at the broad, solid heat of Lance’s hand. “You gonna touch me?” 

“Yeah,” Lance mumbles, forcing his other hand down the back of Walter’s sweats to grip his ass in hungry, greedy handfuls. It feels so _fucking_ good Walter goes slack, panting and drinking up the sensation of being pulled apart, mauled, _coveted_. Then, before he can even properly soak up the attention, Lance starts to rub his cock through his swears experimentally. “Goddamn. You’re one of those skinny hung boys, aren't you?” 

“Not _that_ hung,” he gasps. “Not like you. Remember—I’ve seen it. God. Made my mouth water, even soft like that. It was so embarrassing.” 

“I remember. I saw you looking and I _liked_ it and—guess I should have known, right? That’d you’d get under my skin,” he says, and there’s so much _sweetness_ in his voice, a soft, tender rasp. “God, _baby,_ you feel so good. Such a perfect ass, can’t wait to see it stretched around my cock. “ 

“Oh my fucking _god_ ,” Walter keens, leaking precum slick and messy into his sweats because his favorite fantasy in the _world_ is men calling him _baby,_ hot-sweet and possessive against his ear. He wonders if Lance can feel the wetness through the cotton, if he’s ever gonna _touch him_ without the barrier. “Please, _please._ I’ve thought about it so much. Your cock in me. You— _oh_ fuck _Lance—“_ he yelps, because Lance is dipping a finger into his crack, rubbing sweet and rough and tender against his hole.

“ _God_. So tight. Gonna have to eat you out to loosen you up, huh?” Lance huffs out, biting Walter’s lips, feeling his cock with clumsy squeezes until he finally curses under his breath and gets his hand under the elastic to cup him bare. “ _Fuck,_ so hot, so _wet_ , baby. You like me playing with that little hole?” 

“Yeah, god, please,” Walter whimpers. “Feels so good. Gonna come for you soon.” 

“Knew you’d be easy, knew I could make you feel so good. Make you fall apart. God,” Lance mumbles, kissing him deep, curling his big, warm fist around Walter’s cock and jacking him off firm and steady. “Bet you sound so pretty with a cock in you, baby.” 

Walter is gasping and whimpering just with Lance _rubbing_ his _hole,_ he can’t even imagine how loud he's gonna be when he fucks him. He lets out a breathy moan, encouraged by the knowledge Lance _likes_ it, Lance likes _him_. Wants him. It’s so overwhelming; he’s so used to men only being interested in a blowjob and nothing else. And he's _happy_ to suck dick, he _loves_ it, but this—being touched to thoroughly, so tenderly, so desperately? His cock is throbbing already, only a few moments away from spilling over Lance’s fist. “You’re gonna make me come,” he confesses, hips already locking up, asshole starting to pulse against Lance’s fingers. 

“ _Yes,_ good boy,” Lance begs, pushing his finger into Walter’s hole as it flutters, making him cry out at the raw, perfect, dirty drag. “Come for me baby, lemme feel you.” 

Walter lets go, gasping as he comes in hot ribbons into his sweats, clutching tight at Lance’s finger in spasms. His whole world is static and heat and stubble-rough kisses all over his slack, panting mouth, and it might be the best fucking moment of his life. This isn’t crumbs, it’s a whole fucking _loaf_. Maybe even a bakery. When he comes down, he’s regrettably empty, but he can hardly complain because Lance is manhandling him, rolling him onto his side so they’re lying chest to back and his face is crushed into the couch cushions. “I can’t really breathe,” he wheezes hoarsely, heart thundering under one of Lance’s searching palms. “But I also don’t really give a shit.” 

Lance kisses the back of his neck, smiling against sweat damp skin. “Here,” he mumbles, grabbing one of the cushions and chucking it so Walter’s not quite so cramped. Then, he pulls his sweats down his thighs so his ass and spent, come-sticky cock are exposed. Walter feels positively wrung out and used and possessed and it’s _so hot,_ Lance is so _strong_ and he can put him wherever he wants him and he’s just _doing it._ It makes Walter want to _cry_ in gratitude. He arches his back, rubbing his ass against Lance’s huge cock, which he can feel jutting against him, steel-hard and fire hot. “You can fuck me,” me slurs. “Just go slow.” 

“Told you, round two,” Lance murmurs against the shell of his ear before licking it. “In my bed. Where I have lube. Strawberry flavored, pretty lube in a pink bottle because I thought of you when I saw it.” 

Walter whimpers, totally overwhelmed, cock already starting to chub up again at the suggestion. “Very thoughtful.” 

“Gonna get you all slick and pink and sweet. But right now I want to—fuck, just want you like this,” he murmurs, reaching down and arranging himself so he can push his erection between Walter’s thighs. “Love your legs, so long, so slender. Think about them wrapped around me all the time. Want to fuck you just like this, come right between them.” 

“Jesus _christ,”_ Walter gasps, settling down onto the wonderful, maddening heat of Lance’s cock nestled up against his balls. It’s so _big,_ so long that the tip of it is poking out under his sac, chocolate brown and glistening in precum, making his mouth flood suddenly at the thought of sucking it, choking on it. He rocks back and forth subtly, mind a mess of dual fear and hunger at the idea of what it’ll feel like to be _fucked,_ how much Lance will stretch him, fill him. “You’ll be gentle when you take me upstairs, right?” he murmurs, reaching down and thumbing over the crown of lance’s cock where he has it trapped between his thighs. “You’re gonna be the biggest I’ve ever had, I think.” 

“Oh _baby_ , so gentle,” Lance groans, thrusting experimentally, face pressed into the side of Walter’s neck, which is spit-damp from wet, messy kisses. “Gonna treat you like my princess. Open you up with my fingers, my tongue. Tease you on the tip until you’re begging for it. Then give it to you so slow, one inch at a time.” 

“Fuck. Want it so bad. Want to be filled up, want you to come inside me,” Walter murmurs, bracing back against Lance’s weight as he fucks his thighs, the friction slick and burning and so fucking filthy he's hard all over again.

“God, baby, so good,” Lance gasps out, voice rough and syncopated with his thrusts as he possessively grips Walter’s hips, holds him in place so he can ride his ass. “Even your _thighs_ are perfect. Best thing I ever felt. Gonna get you all messy here,” he says, and that’s all the warning Walter gets before Lance withdraws, aligns, and shoots off right there onto him, crown of his cock pressed into his balls from behind. 

Walter cries out like _he’s_ just come, stunned by the wet burn, sticky and dirty all over his thighs, his cock, his ass. It’s a huge load, and it makes him all the more desperate to feel it _inside_ him, painting his insides white. Without even thinking he reaches back, smears a fistful of Lance’s come up to his hole and rubs it in hungrily, not even caring how slutty he looks. 

Lance swears, moves Walter’s hand out of the way so he can do it instead, collecting come and pushing it up into Walter. “God, look at you. Want me to cream pie that hole so bad.”

“So. Bad,” Walter mumbles, rocking back, fucking himself onto Lance’s sticky fingers, drooling on the couch, completely beside himself. “Take me to bed now?” he asks, shooting a hazy glance over his shoulder, still not totally sure his is real. 

“Fuck. Yeah, you got it. C’mon baby,” Lance mumbles, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on Walter’s thigh. “Goddamn. Can’t believe I don’t have to pretend I’m smelling your hair in a _bro_ way anymore.” 

“So do you actually hate _Heart and Seoul_?” Walter asks, looping his arms messily around Lance’s neck as he hauls him up to a sitting position before hiking him up into his arms like a small child or fucking puppy. It’s very swoon-worthy. 

“I don’t _hate_ it. But I’ll admit I miss _half_ the subtitles because m’too busy checking you out. You blush so much when you drink. It’s so cute. I end up getting lost in some fantasy about kissing you, and then look back to the TV, and like—one character’s died and another two are engaged and yeah. I have no idea what’s happening,” he admits, kissing Walter’s temple as he stumbles his way down the hall to the bedroom. “God, you’re secretly heavy.” 

Walter sighs, pressing his face into Lance’s throat. “Guess we’ll have to start over from season one.” 

“Or, we could have _real_ dates instead of _Heart and Seoul_ dates?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow at Walter before kicking open the door and depositing him into the mattress. 

Walter licks his lips and grins up at him. “Deal.” 


End file.
